


Fast Times at Bayville High

by citizenjess (givehimonemore)



Category: X-Men Evolution
Genre: Blow Jobs, Car Sex, Hand Jobs, M/M, Shoplifting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-28 15:31:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/309356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/givehimonemore/pseuds/citizenjess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pietro takes a ride with Lance in his Jeep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fast Times at Bayville High

Pietro really liked Lance's Jeep. To him, it signified freedom, coolness. Being cool radiated off of Lance like it was a part of his aura; Pietro was somewhat jealous of that. Mostly, though, he just enjoyed excuses to accompany Lance on short road trips: Buying take-out for dinner with (usually) stolen money; filling up the tank, when they could, and never enough for Boom Boom to take it out for a joyride, because she never returned the favor.

Lance made noise that evening about needing some things from the convenience store, and had moved his long, gangly limbs so as to propel himself off of the couch. "I'll be back," he muttered, and Pietro met him at the door, taking advantage of the mutation that had earned him the nickname Quicksilver. "Can I come?" he asked, beaming, and Lance shrugged.

"I guess."

Lance drove kind of recklessly, one hand on the wheel, the other arm crooked at the elbow and leaning against the open window of the vehicle. The wind always messed up Pietro's carefully gelled hair, but Lance never had to use any product and he always looked just the right amount of tousled. Again, Pietro couldn't help but be envious; Lance was older than he was, more mature, more worldly. He even had a bit of stubble along the bottom half of his face. The one time Pietro had tried to shave, he'd nicked his already-baby-smooth skin with the razor accidentally and Wanda had laughed at him for a week.

Once they arrived at the store, Lance sauntered down the aisles, picking up items here and there - chips, candy bars, a box of ramen noodles that Pietro knew would be dinner for a week. He didn't say anything when the older boy shoved additional items inside of his leather jacket; when the clerk frowned at them suspiciously from his place behind the cash register, Pietro stared back haughtily while Lance slapped a wrinkled twenty dollar bill onto the counter. When Lance handed him the bag of their legitimate purchases, he took it without a word, and followed the shaggy-haired boy back out the door.

"So where to now?" Pietro asked, tossing the plastic sack into the backseat of the Jeep and buckling himself in. He noticed how Lance didn't bother to put on his seatbelt until well after he'd started the car and backed it out of the parking space. He was so cool, Pietro thought, biting his lip. In the pregnant pauses between what seemed to constitute a conversation, he regarded Lance closely, admiring the flat slope of his nose, his thin lips, his well-defined biceps. Then his gaze flickered to the other boy's ragged clothing.

Lance caught him smiling. "What?" he grunted, glancing at Pietro briefly.

Pietro shrugged. "Nothing. Just, you wear a vest. It's kinda ... gay." Lance raised an eyebrow, and Pietro could see his fingers tightening on the wheel. "Not that you're gay," he amended eventually. "Just, you know, vests are gay. It's like, a thing."

"I'm not gay," Lance bit out. He grinned sidelong at Pietro, and Pietro felt an unpleasant rumbling in his gut. "I made out with her, you know," he added, and Pietro swallowed the lump in his throat. "Kitty," Lance clarified, though he didn't have to, because it was all too obvious to Pietro that Lance liked Kitty Pryde. "At Grosse Pointe. You've been to Grosse Pointe, right?"

"Oh, yeah," Pietro lied. "Loads of times." In truth, he knew of Grosse Pointe, the infamous teenage make-out spot overlooking Bayville, but lack of his own transportation and, well, a girlfriend - and lack of interest in having a girlfriend - had kept him from what was apparently a rite of passage. He bit his lip and looked out his window.

Lance drove for a while in silence. Finally, he blinked at the younger boy. "You haven't really, have you?" he asked, and Pietro looked back at him fearfully. "You've never been to Grosse Pointe, Pietro, have you?"

"No," Pietro admitted. That was when he realized that Lance had missed the turn for the Brotherhood's headquarters. "I think we're going the wrong way," he offered, but Lance just chuckled.

"No, we're not."

Grosse Pointe was nothing to write home about; the landscape was boring, though it had a pretty nice view of the sunset. Pietro wasn't really paying attention to that, however; instead, his focus was on Lance. He watched the other boy put the car into park, and turn down the radio that Pietro hadn't even realized was on. Something pop music-y filtered through the speakers a bit tinnily - the car wasn't really in the best shape. "So here it is," Lance said. "Is it everything you ever dreamed?"

Pietro laughed. "There's not much to do, is there?" he asked awkwardly. Lance pulled off his seatbelt, so he did, too.

Lance swiveled a little in his seat. "Nobody really comes up here 'cept for one thing," he told Pietro. He hunted around in the breast pocket of his vest and eventually produced a cigarette. He lit it, took a drag, and held it out to Pietro, who shook his head. "You sure?" Lance asked, and then shrugged and took another drag, inhaling deeply and holding it for several seconds before politely turning his head and releasing his breath out the window, rather than in Pietro's face. "So who do you like?" he asked, and Pietro squirmed again. "Anyone at Bayville?"

"I don't know," Pietro mumbled. His fingers fumbled with the hem of his shirt. He wished this wasn't so awkward. It was hard being so close to someone who had no romantic interest towards him whatsoever; especially, Pietro thought, flushing slightly at the memory, when he had spent considerable time thinking about Lance while he jerked off. He wasn't about to let Lance know that, though.

The older boy took his silence in stride. "Have you ever kissed a girl?" he asked. He nudged Pietro in the ribs, making him jump a little. "Your sister doesn't count, by the way."

Pietro smirked, but it didn't completely absolve him of feeling out of his league. "No, not really," he replied. When Lance vacillated hard through his nostrils, he wondered if he was going to make him walk home. When Lance turned to him again, dull brown eyes boring into Pietro's watery blue ones, his face was yet serious.

"So, you're gay, right?"

Pietro's mouth was dry. "What?" he asked, but he had always been a poor liar.

Lance shrugged. "'s why you asked me about my vest, right?" he continued. "You're gay, so you know about gay stuff." He gave Pietro a once over, and Pietro shivered. "It's not like, surprising," Lance told him. "You really like clothes. You spend longer fixing your hair in the mornings than Wanda. You're the pickiest eater I've ever met ..."

"Being a picky eater isn't gay," Pietro contested hotly.

Lance smirked. "It's you, and you're gay," he snorted, and then sobered again. "You are, aren't you? Come on, you can tell me," he coaxed.

Pietro was cold suddenly. "I don't know. Maybe," he hedged, wrapping his arms around himself.

Lance shrugged out of his jacket. "Here," he said, and before Pietro knew it, he was surrounded with Lance's worn leather jacket. It smelled good, like cigarette smoke and Lance's aftershave, and he burrowed into a bit. "So you've never kissed anyone, then," Lance said slowly. When he leaned forward and placed a hand on Pietro's knee, the younger boy thought he might faint. "Would you like to?"

"What? With you?" Pietro's eyes were as wide as dinner plates.

Lance shrugged, pulling back a bit. "If you don't want to, it's no big deal."

"No, I want to," Pietro said quickly, before he could stop himself. He flushed when this made Lance smirk. "I mean, uh. I mean, that'd be cool. Okay. Can we do that?" Pietro babbled when he was nervous. Lance didn't babble ever, he thought, annoyed.

Then Lance's hand - the one not holding the cigarette, of course, because Lance had set it down on the ashtray beneath the dash - was cupping Pietro's face, tugging him closer, and he had an entirely different set of emotions running through him now that had nothing to do with annoyance. "I - I thought you weren't gay?" Pietro queried, and Lance gave one of his damnable shrugs.

"I'm not. But this is fine. If you want it."

"I want it." The kiss was weird; Lance's lips were chapped and his stubble itched Pietro's face, and it was over too quickly. He heard a chuckle and realized that he was still leaning in, squeezing his eyes shut. He blinked and straightened in his seat again, trying not to feel too disappointed. "So that was a kiss ..." he began, but his utterance was cut off by Lance tugging him forward by the wrist again. This time, the older boy's tongue shoved into his mouth; Pietro gasped and moaned a little, and let Lance adjust the angle of his head with large, surprisingly soft fingers on his jaw. "This is nice," he continued, but Lance pulled back enough to offer a quick, firm rebuff:

"Pietro. Stop talking."

He was starting to get the hang of this, Pietro thought as Lance resumed making out with him. At one point, his hand moved up and carded through the other boy's scruffy, dark hair, and Lance seemed to grunt in approval. The hand on his crotch was yet unexpected, however. "W-what are you doing?" he shivered, embarrassed at how quickly his cock had jumped at the mere ghosting of Lance's hand over the bulge in his jeans.

"What do you think I'm doing?" Lance smirked, and unzipped Pietro's jeans. "If you don't want this, you should probably tell me now," he told Pietro.

The younger boy exhaled shakily. "I - I want it," he breathed. He looked warily out the window. "But what if we get caught?"

"We won't, s'long as the cops don't think we're drinking up here," Lance said casually. His fingers groped at Pietro's cock through his underwear. "You like that?" he asked, though Pietro's hitched breathing likely told him all that he needed to know regarding the other boy's arousal.

"Yeah," Pietro moaned. He bit his lip again, and gripped the seat on either side of himself, watching Lance as he tugged Pietro's dick free from the constraints of his underwear and wrapped blunt fingers around the length. Like everything else Lance did, he seemed to have an easy-going, yet effective masturbation method, and Pietro had already been on edge since long before he knew he'd be getting jacked off by the boy he had a crush on. He came quickly, whimpering as Lance pumped him hard, rubbing his thumb across the top of Pietro's dick, milking him of his seed. When it was over, Lance simply reached into the glove compartment and pulled out an unsoiled fast food napkin, wiping his wet fingers on it and then crumpling it into a ball.

"Sure you don't want that cigarette now?"

Pietro laughed. "I'm good." He thought for a moment, his head still pounding from his orgasm. "Um, what about you?" he asked, gesturing at Lance's tight, black jeans. "Are you uh, gonna take care of that?"

Lance looked down as well, and then back up at Pietro. "You wanna help?" he asked, and Pietro reached over eagerly. He got Lance's pants open and was fisting the other boy's cock with little fanfare, and then he had another idea. "P-Pietro, what ..." Lance asked when he saw the other boy's head sinking into his lap.

"'s cool, I want to," Pietro promised. Though he'd never given a blow-job before, he'd heard enough stories in the locker room after basketball practice to guess what he was supposed to do. Still gripping the base of Lance's dick, he swirled his tongue around the head, focusing on the slit when it made Lance moan loudly and grip his hair.

"G - God ... 's good, Pietro ..."

Pietro smiled and continued suckling. He didn't think he could take in the entire length yet, but it was just as well, since Lance's libido was obviously pretty much matched to Pietro's own. After only a few more strokes and Pietro experimentally laving his tongue over the first couple of inches of the other boy's cock, Lance was coming, spurting into Pietro's mouth and, to his slight chagrin, onto his cheek. "Sorry, man," Lance gasped, and Pietro shook his head. He reached into the glove compartment himself for a clean napkin, and mopped up the mess. The inside of his mouth tasted like Lance's slightly bitter seed; it wasn't bad, but it wasn't great, either. Still, he beamed at the older boy, watching Lance attempt to catch his breath. "Dude, awesome," Lance told him, reaching over and ruffling Pietro's hair. "You okay?" he asked, turning the key in the ignition and starting the Jeep's motor anew.

Pietro nodded. "No complaints," he responded, and he felt happy when Lance let him choose the radio station on their way home, and shrugged off the other boy's jacket before they pulled into the drive way so it wouldn't look weird. Still, as they traipsed up the steps towards the ramshackle mansion they both called home, Pietro felt Lance's arm loop briefly around his waist and heard the "we had a little fun together, nobody needs to know but us" murmured in his ear, and he gripped the banister and let Lance enter the house first, following behind him a short distance, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning too widely.


End file.
